


The Reunion We Deserve

by ode_to_an_inkwell



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 22:58:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16796371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ode_to_an_inkwell/pseuds/ode_to_an_inkwell
Summary: Jon's return to Winterfell offers subtle drama and enlightenment as character reunions and character meetings play out (Davos knows, y'all). A Jonsa reunion fic with playful dialogue.





	The Reunion We Deserve

**Author's Note:**

> I hope my fellow Jonsas enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The caravan arrived just outside the Winterfell gates. There was a shout, and they opened. Jon rode ahead of the carriage containing Daenerys and Tyrion. They waited in the courtyard as Sansa appeared on the rampart. She spotted Jon and dashed toward the stairs, eager to greet him. Daenerys saw a flash of vibrant red hair, then a white face emerged. Jon’s eyes honed on the face, then he dismounted with stunned grace. Sansa took a step into the snow, letting it fall in her hair. The two exchanged a quick smile, then they moved for each other. She threw her arms over his shoulders as he caught at her waist, swinging her in a half circle so that Daenerys could see the flow of fire kissed hair down the woman’s back. Though he’d journeyed south, Jon had felt cold every day he spent apart from Winterfell. He pulled her closer until they were cheek to cheek, hiding in fur and resembling two wolf mates reunited. Her lips brushed his ear.

“And who is that?” Daenerys muttered from inside the carriage.

Tyrion leaned forward to see. “Sansa Stark. My ex-wife.”

“His sister?” Daenerys said. “Is that typical sibling behavior in Westeros?”

“I wouldn’t know about typical sibling behavior,” Tyrion said. “My siblings liked to fuck each other.”

“Can you forgive me?” Jon asked. His breath tickled her neck.

“Not yet,” Sansa said.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be another Northern fool.”

She sighed. “I understand. You did what you had to.”

“What I thought you would do. To gain a powerful ally,” Jon said.

Her eyes flashed toward a face shrouded within the carriage. “We must speak more. In private.”

“Aye, we must.”

The carriage door opened, and the two sprung apart. The Unsullied closed ranks around their Queen. Daenerys, flushed from cold, climbed to the ground. Sansa had heard men speak of the last Targaryen with lust in their voices, for both her body and her power. This Queen seemed to be Arya’s size, if not a little taller. Sansa only now noticed the presence of Ser Davos, still mounted. He appeared troubled.

Jon bent, and Sansa followed suit. Missandei, concealing her misery, began. “You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and—”

“Forgive me your Grace,” Sansa interrupted, “but if we stand outside for all your titles, we may well freeze.”

Daenerys raised a brow but smiled good-naturedly. “You may be right. Rise.”

Jon bridged the space between them, but his eyes stayed on Sansa. Conspicuous or not, a starving man couldn’t help but consume.

“Queen Daenerys, this is the Lady of Winterfell, Lady Stark. My sister.”

“Lady Sansa,” Tyrion called, emerging from the retinue. “It is a pleasure to find you under such circumstances.”

“The circumstance of war, Lord Tyrion?” Sansa asked.

Tyrion bit back a laugh. “I meant the circumstance of your good health.”

Sansa smiled secretively. “It is a pleasure to see you as well.” Her tone shifted to formal. “And a pleasure to finally meet you, your Grace. Shall we all convene in the great hall? I’m sure your men would appreciate a cask of mead.”

Dany nodded. “Yes, we shall convene. Thank you for the…warm reception.” She smiled, then marched forward into the castle. “My horses and men need food. I will need a set of chambers prepared for myself and my advisors.”

With a sideways glance at each other, Jon and Sansa followed.

“Of course, your Grace,” Sansa began. “We will do all we can for your armies, and your chambers are already prepared.”

“Good.” Dany turned to Sansa now, one corner of her mouth raised. “It is a joy to meet the sister of Jon Snow.”

“Jon Stark, your Grace.”

Dany paused. “Was he ever naturalized by a king?”

Sansa smiled. “He became one.”

“Jon!”

Jon turned toward Arya’s voice, jaw slack in a silent laugh. The younger ducked in for a hug, allowing herself a smile. It had been so long since Arya had felt a brother’s embrace and all the comfort it brought. Jon’s mind flooded. Having Arya home was a blessed miracle and hugging her was a strange happiness. He just couldn’t understand why Arya’s embrace felt so different from Sansa’s.

“Arya Underfoot,” he said, “I have missed you.”

After Daenerys’ camp settled around the castle and Wintertown, the Lords gathered in Winterfell’s great hall for a feast. Jon looked kinglier than Dany had ever seen him, though his table stood on even ground with everyone else. She felt a small surprise at this humility. Perhaps Jon didn’t need to raise himself above his subjects for the North to look up to him. Jon sat flanked by Davos and Daenerys, Sansa opposite him with her back to the hall. Tyrion and Arya sat on either side of her.

“Where is Bran?” Jon asked.

“He and Sam are with the Maester,” Arya said.

Jon nodded and rose to address the lords. “I owe an enormous debt to Lady Sansa,” he began, and she lowered her eyes to hide her pleasure. “For confirming my belief in her capabilities—for being a mother to the North. As I do to you, my lords, for your patience as I brought allies to our side. Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, has pledged herself to our cause. Working together, we will hold the North from the army of the dead.”

Daenerys stood. Even the background noise of passing plates died down. She looked strange to the men, but no one dared speak. She didn’t feel tall enough, suddenly, and pressed her palms onto the table.

“I give my word that my dragons will harm no Northerner. I did not come here to murder, I came to offer freedom. A new age will begin when I sit on the Iron Throne, one which rewards honor and loyalty. These are the things the North holds in high regard, I am told.”

The Little Bear laced her fingers together diplomatically. “We are a loyal people. But we have no previous ties to you.”

“I have come to save you,” Daenerys responded, impassioned. “All of you are in great danger from the threat to the north.”

“We are all in danger,” Tormund refuted. “This army of the dead wants to wipe us all out. Not just the northmen, and us savages, but every living thing.”

“Which is why it is imperative that we fight as one,” Daenerys reminded. “We have taken great pains to secure an armistice with Cersei Lannister. She has given me her word that she will send aid.”

“Lord Tyrion,” Sansa began, "did you fail to mention to your Queen that Cersei Lannister's words mean nothing?"

Dany looked down on her. “I saw the fear in her eyes as she gave me her word—”

“I’m sure you’re accustomed to seeing fear, your Grace,” Arya responded.

Tyrion raised a hand in protest. “Show your Queen some respect.”

“A Queen we did not crown!” a lord shouted.

Upheaval prevailed for a moment, various lords fighting to be heard. Daenerys’ nostrils flared in a way Tyrion knew to be dangerous.

Sansa rose, towering over the room. “Winter is here!” All eyes rested upon her, the lords drawing to a silence. “Our feuds will keep until it has passed, but we will not survive without Targaryen aid. The North is my home, its people my family. We’ve no option but to desist. So long as the North is here, it will remember.”

This seemed to appease the lords. Very little conversation was made over the course of the feast, though Davos attempted a few cheerful comments about the stew. Strangely, his comments always came as Tyrion looked in Jon’s direction. For Jon’s part, he was distracted. Sansa felt his gaze like a cloak—warm and familiar. When the meal was over Daenerys and Tyrion departed. Jon excused himself and hurried after, eager to calm her.

“I don’t trust her,” Dany uttered to Tyrion.

“Ah,” Tyrion saw Jon appear in the doorway. “Lord Snow. Care to explain what happened back there?”

Jon held his hands open, frustrated. “I told you. The Northern lords don’t want a southern ruler. They’re too proud.”

“You are their king,” Dany said. “A king must be able to rule with force.”

“It wasn’t force that made me a king, it was my people’s trust.”

“So, they should trust you _now_ ,” Tyrion cut in.

Jon’s eyes grew round, and Daenerys stiffened. “Leave us,” she commanded her Hand. Tyrion gave a curt nod before turning on his heel to depart. “Shall we go to your chambers?” she asked Jon at last. “It seems we have both been far too busy to speak a word alone.”

He sighed. “Alright.”

Jon turned through the familiar halls, wondering what she would want from him tonight. His mouth was ash. Dany followed imperially, quiet until they were alone.

“Battle plans?” she asked, peering over a map stretched across a wobbly table.

“Almost.”

She smiled. “I suppose we should discuss our alliance.”

Jon averted his gaze. “If you reckon we should.”

She reached for his hand where it rested on the table. “We might discuss how we plan to secure our alliance more fully.”

He pulled his hand away to gesture to the map. “The north gate is here. When the Night King comes we must reinforce it in case of siege.”

Dany circled the room. “I trust your military expertise. It is a wonder that the castle is so humble.”

Jon looked up at this. “Beg your pardon?”

“I only meant that the lord’s chambers here are modest,” she corrected.

“These are not the lord’s chambers.”

Her face fell. “Who sleeps in the lord’s chambers?”

“Lady Stark.” Dany wanted to press it, but his voice indicated it would be unwise. “You should rest. Tomorrow will be harder.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible. But good evening, Lord Snow.”

“Good evening.”

Once she left Jon proceeded to count to ten. After that, he could wait no longer. He went down the hall and shuffled past torches until he reached the door. He knocked twice, paused, then knocked two more times.

Sansa’s face appeared, and she waved him inside. Ghost lay at the foot of her bed. Jon sat beside him and stroked his fur. The firelight set Sansa’s hair aglow, and Jon noticed that she was no longer in her armored gown. She closed the door and drew near so they could speak in hushed tones.

“You gave her the North,” she began.

“I gave you the North. She demanded it.”

For the first time that day, Sansa allowed herself emotion. But the all-consuming rage ambushed her. “The North is not yours alone to give. You should have consulted me.”

“I couldn’t.”

Her voice rose as she spoke. “I held the castle and waited for word. Weeks of torment, thinking you could be imprisoned or worse. I couldn’t let the lords suspect that anything was wrong, of course. And all the while…”

“I missed you,” Jon said, his eyes grown soft over the course of her speech.

After a deep breath, Sansa admitted, “I missed you, too.”

He took her hand and held it as tightly as he dared. “I wanted to send word, but it was too dangerous. I was a captive at Dragonstone.”

“Captive?” Sansa grew momentarily distracted by Jon’s thumb running over her knuckles. “So…we can’t trust her at all.”

“I suspect she wants a marriage alliance.”

Sansa suppressed unladylike thoughts, but her mouth snapped off, nonetheless. “First you’re her prisoner, now you’re her prize. I see why she treats with Lannisters, it’s because she understands them too well.” Jon made no argument. She kept her face pointed at the ground. “Marriage. Is now really the time?”

“I don’t want to marry her,” he said. “She only wishes to unite the North and South.”

“She wishes to conquer the North and South,” Sansa corrected.

Jon stood and captured her chin so she would look at him. “It won’t matter if you die.”

Sansa’s insides were riotous. “It won’t matter if _we_ die.”

This close, Jon could drown in the blue of her eyes. Her chin felt small in his fingers. His thumb was so close to her bottom lip, he could almost trace it. In fact, he wanted to. Jon pulled away and drew his fingers into fists.

“Forgive me, it’s been a long day. I’m sure you’re weary.”

She tried a smile. “No more than you. If you’re leaving you should take Ghost with you. I think he missed you as much as I did.”

“No, he should stay with you.” They both looked at the direwolf covering half the bed. “It’s where he wants to be.”

Sansa nodded shyly. “Well, good night then, Jon.”

His mouth laid a kiss in her hair before he could stop it. “Good night, Sansa.”

He strode from the room and to the nearest courtyard, in need of cold air to clear out his still flooded mind. He understood now the difference between Arya’s and Sansa’s touch. Hugging Arya felt content and safe. Touching Sansa felt wonderfully dangerous. As if a single touch would never sate him.


End file.
